


Prisoners of War

by Gigi_Sinclair



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-16
Updated: 2012-04-16
Packaged: 2017-11-03 19:12:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/384880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gigi_Sinclair/pseuds/Gigi_Sinclair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nero likes to talk. Especially when he's drunk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prisoners of War

**Author's Note:**

> Sexual harassment, no actual rape. First posted in May 2009.

Through his perpetually pain-streaked haze, Pike knows when Nero is watching him.

When someone else is on guard, Pike senses nothing but indifference. The other Romulans don't torture him or touch him or even talk to him. They don't care about him. He's a means to an end, and they have bigger things on their minds.

He doesn't know what's on Nero's mind. Pike wishes he were stronger, that he could think more clearly. He is trained in the art of negotiation; there is so much he could say, so much he could do to help himself and the Federation if only he could reach out to Nero. 

Nero is very interested in him. Unlike his shipmates, he likes to talk, and when Pike senses a presence at his side, he doesn't have to open his eyes to know who's there. 

"Christopher. How are you doing tonight?" Nero's voice is slurred. He's drunk, Pike thinks. It happens a lot. "Are you warm enough?" 

A hand descends on his leg, and Pike's stomach twists with physical revulsion. It's never gone further than quasi-affectionate touching, but every time Nero comes down here, Pike anticipates the ultimate physical violation. It wouldn't surprise him if it happened. Nero clearly has no respect for the Venetian Convention on the Treatment of Prisoners, if he's even heard of it. 

"The heating's sporadic at best." Nero squeezes his leg. "Always has been. I'm afraid mining ships weren't designed for comfort. They had the 'bigger picture' in mind, but believe me, after twenty-five years, you start to notice the little things."

Pike doesn't respond. He keeps his eyes closed, but he knows it fools no one.

"I know you're in there, Christopher." The hand moves up. Pike tenses, but it bypasses his groin and rests on his shoulder. "I want to tell you something." 

A sickly sweet stench descends over Pike, and he barely restrains a gag. He's smelled bootleg Romulan ale before. It's a post-graduation and bachelor party staple but if—when—he gets out of here, he knows he'll never be able to look at it again. 

"It's not about you." Nero sighs, almost wistful. The sound grates on Pike's ears and ravages his brain the way alien slugs never could. "Really. Under different circumstances, I think you and I would get along very well indeed. You remind me of my..." It's an unintelligible word. Even if he had the energy to think back to his basic linguistics classes at the Academy, Pike doesn't want to figure it out. 

Unfortunately, Nero provides a translation. "My partner. Dead now, of course. Along with my wife. My mother. My whole fucking family." 

There's a crash, a sound of metal banging against metal. Pike feels his table vibrate, jarring his spine and forcing a groan from his throat. The movement stops as quickly as it began. "Sorry about that, Christopher. You just don't know what it's like. Romulus was so beautiful." 

The hand returns, but this time it slides down Pike's arm and interlaces its fingers with his. Nero is holding his hand, and that feels almost as violating as an actual rape. "If we were there, I'd take you to this gorgeous lake. Absolutely beautiful. Crystal clear red water, black volcanic beaches as far as the eye can see. We'd bring a picnic along. Go for a swim. Walk along the beach and skip stones across the water." Pike feels him draw closer. "Then, at the end of the day," Nero whispers, his lips touching the edge of Pike's ear, "I'd take you home and suck your cock." 

Nero kisses him, pressing his lips first against Pike's ear and then against the back of his hand. Pike feels every muscle in his body contract. Nero obviously feels it, too. "Don't be like that, Christopher. I promise you, I was a good guy. I still am. Don't hate me for thinking it's just a little bit unfair my entire civilization was destroyed because of one stupid Vulcan." 

Pike doesn't hate him for that. He hates him because Nero crossed the line no captain ever should: he let his personal feelings interfere with the course of history. 

Pike has to say something. He's afraid Nero will take silence for assent. He cracks his eyes open, just enough to see the blurry face in front of him, and clears his dry throat. 

"Yes, Christopher? Do you have something to say?"

He does. It's hard to get out, through parched lips and an agonizingly scratched throat, but he manages. "Fuck you."

Nero laughs. "We'd get there." He kisses Pike's hand again. Then he's gone, and Pike allows himself to slip back into blissful unconsciousness.


End file.
